


Vanishing Act

by sniperct



Series: Last Resort [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, Gen, Old school fic, vanilla wow, yukale backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22468732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sniperct/pseuds/sniperct
Summary: Some backstory for Yukale and Tyra as seen in Last Resort, written long ago in the Vanilla days. I make no apologies for the quality of this ;)Technically canon compliant with Last Resort!The rogue Yukale is kidnapped by her mother, and encounters a lost friend named Tyra. A long story, told in parts, much like old time serials. Was completed and posted on the Silver Hand forums for World of Warcraft. Apparently a lot of people liked it =D
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Last Resort [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1487129
Kudos: 13





	Vanishing Act

**Author's Note:**

> So this was written a very long time ago, during the halycon days of vanilla wow. It was posted on the old forums for the US Silver Hand server and probably the first thing I wrote that had any traction!
> 
> It's unedited and my writing style and skill has obviously evolved, but I wanted to make sure this was archived here for my own good memories.

Yukale sat herself down gingerly, in what appeared to be a relatively safe cubbyhole among the northern hills of Lordareon's Eastern Plaguelands. There was something vaguely familiar about the place though she couldn't place the image. Her head still ached from when Balnazzar had forced himself into her mind, though her memories of that fight were fuzzy at best, entirely gone at worse. In the end the demon lay defeated and she and her friends stood alive and whole. Well mostly whole. There was still that black spot in her mind, and a few new scars spread among them all.

So she wasn't entirely certain why she had returned here alone, after a brief stop farther south to resupply and send a letter off to the druid Kiska. Maybe she wanted to think (though she reminded herself there were far more pleasant locales to do so) or maybe she thought to find something.

Reaching into her pack, her fingers closed around the soft cloth of some recently acquired robes. Twice now, in recent months, had she recieved a parcel from an unknown source, addressed to her and from a person claiming to be her mother. Her mother whom she hadn't seen in some six centuries.

The first of the robes was very old, of the Highborne make and style, and had set her mind to some very unpleasent thoughts. It reeked of magic, but not as much, or as darkly, as the one she'd recieved the day before. It was Dreadmist, of the sort warlocks (and certain mages and priests) wore. The rogue didn't even know why she'd kept them. Some obligation to family perhaps, or maybe just a tenious thread to her father. He had just vanished after Hyjal, and her only guess had been to look for his wife. Her only clue had been the words of her grandmother, who she had found many months ago.

The only comfort in that encounter had been that she'd been told her parents were alive. She'd found the woman in Azshara, and had engaged in combat with her - She'd been a Blood Elf, and Yukale didn't even find out she was kin until her opponent lay mortally wounded on the ground. Even near death she'd been arrogant, as condescending as her mother had told her the Highborne had been, though her gaze and her words softened as she spoke with her granddaughter.

Despite that, the rogue maintained a nagging sense that she hadn't been told the whole story, and as she examined the robes, she wondered just what her mother was trying to tell her. Or rather, she was desperately hoping that her conclusions were horrifically wrong and she was merely being paranoid.

Suddenly wishing the comfort and warmth of Kiska's arms, she opted to beat her letter (how mail ever reached the other woman, Yukale could never figure out, with both their wandering habits) and stood, swinging her pack over her back. Her ears caught a sound behind her and she whirled, both daggers drawn, feet spreading out as she readied herself for combat. An almost feral, cheshire grin began to form in the thrill of sudden combat.

"And here I had been hoping to see that brilliant smile of yours, daughter mine."

Yukale froze, her whole body going numb, her weapons slipping out of her fingers as her eyes widened. The grin faltered, her mouth forming a wordless question. And then something very heavy and entirely too solid struck the back of her head.

***

"I bonked her on ze head! Bonky bonky bonk!" Or that is how the woman's orcish would be roughly translated if Yukale could understand it. That voice was entirely too cheerful, and somehow made her headache worse.

The other voice, the one that had addressed her just before she'd blacked out, responded in orcish as well. The orcish sounded halting, as though the speaker were disgusted to even be speaking in it, "That is..very good, Faette. Thank you. You can...go now."

"I bonked her, no? And she fell over! And she fell like a leaf in ze wind, and then she crumpled, foomph!" This is accompanied by what sounded like hands clapping together, "Oh! She is ze adorable, no?"

There were a few vaguely muttered words that Yukale recognized as High Elvish. They sounded like they might be vulgarities, but she wasn't sure. Between the pounding in her skull and the fact that her hands were bound by something metal and heavy, the only thing she was sure about was that the owner of that voice was in fact her mother.

"Can you...leave? Please?"

"Might I bonk her again?" That bit of orcish sounded hopeful. Yukale was beginning to suspect the speaker was undead, from the sound of her voice. She really hoped she wasn't on the menu. The next question was; Forsaken or Scourge.

"No! Out out out!" There was a door slamming, and then the undead woman's voice, "Would you like me to bring you ze cookies?"

"NO!"

Yukale attempted to open her eyes, wincing and closing them immediatly, her head protesting at the brightness.

"You are awake," Her mother said, the Darnassian sounding as rusty as the Orcish sounded disgusted.

Yukale said nothing. What was there to say? She'd been assaulted and held prisoner by her own mother, and was still trying to come to terms with that fact. Her hands were bound behind her back. She began to work her fingers, pushing at the palm of her gloves. Hah!

She'd often been heard to boast that no lock or bond on earth could hold her.

Lockpick my friend, don't fail me now.

Now to see if fact met boast.

***

As she worked at the shackles, Yukale opened her eyes, seeing her mother standing before her. The woman was most definitely her mother, Nithil'Zir. Or had been at one point. Hair that had once been a light green had faded to blonde, almost white, and her eyes radiated a greenish-red glow. They flashed in anger, and what might be disappointment.

"Answer me, daughter-mine!"

Yukale sighed, "I'm awake, mother. You don't exactly need me to tell you that."

"I see you picked up your father's manners," The woman sat near her, reaching over to cup her face. "You got my gifts, did you enjoy them?"

"I suppose.." She eyed her mother suspiciously, "What's happened to you?"

The woman pressed a finger to Yukale's lips, "Oh, here it comes, the 'you have become what you hated' speech. I was expecting it, but spare me it, dear."

She stood, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke, "Times change, people change. Once, I hated my mother for being of the Highborne."

"So why..? Is this why you left?" The rogue found herself growing angry, "You left us to persue forbidden arts! Arts that you swore off ten thousand years before I was even -born-!" She fumbled briefly, nearly losing her lockpick, and forced herself to calm down, "He went looking for you, after the Battle at Hyjal. I've been looking for him, haven't seen him si-"

"Your father is dead," She interrupted, voice calm and dismissive. "Killed himself. He thought you were dead, and so came looking for me. He did not accept what I had become, and so caught between grief for you and despair at losing his love, or some such nonsense, he lept into the sea. It was all very tragic." She waved a hand dismissively.

The look on Yukale's face appeared to be somewhere between disbelieving, horrified, and angered, the latter emotion being directed mostly at her mother's tone and reaction and partly at herself. Her mouth again found itself unable to push out the words and emotions that were tumbling about her mind. She managed to spit out a half-hearted, "kill you.."

"Like you killed -my- mother? My my, developing quite the family tradition here, are we not? You will not, and you -know- it." Nithil'Zir sat in a chair across from her, crossing her legs, "Oh, I am sure it was an -accident-. Well, an 'accident' could always befall anyone. Say, what were their names? Hanako Sorai? And that druid you've been boffing...what was her name..." She snapped her fingers, "Ah yes, Kiska, never pictured you the type to fraternize with women, you know. And I have some interesting information regarding that Eilirria wom-"

Wrong words, and the wrong people to threaten. Rage blinded the rogue, and then there was a satisfying click, the shackles falling off. Already upset over the news of her father and the callous disregard her mother was showing, the threats pushed her over the edge. Yukale did one of the things she never expected she would ever do. She lunged at her own mother.

***

"Avalêagan Dâ Ur!" Nithil'Zir's voice boomed through the small room, arcane energies crackling around Yukale's body. She fell to the ground, and tried to push herself up. She felt another presence in the room, the sort of dark energy she usually associated with a warlock's pet, only this was much more pronounced. She began to get the impression that her mother wasn't in full control, and that calmed her anger slightly. That unknown presence rushed forward and she felt a sharp pain in her hand.

Thrashing wildly, she managed to get it off of her. Backing into the corner and holding her hand, she saw what was arguably the ugliest looking imp she'd ever seen. And she'd seen a lot of ugly imps.

Her mother smiled, "Is he not adorable?"

"If you could call it that," Yukale replied dryly, trying to flex her fingers. She couldn't feel the ring finger on her right hand. The imp had probably broken it, but she wasn't about to remove her glove and check until she was far, far away from here.

"I do, and I did. Come now, Yukale, do you think I am not aware of your rather..sundry skills? I've seen the surprising amount of damage you can wreak. Now calm down, sit down, and shut the hell up!" She sounded both proud and disgusted by her daughter's abilities.

Though Yukale didn't calm down, she did sit and shut up. As soon as she did so, a numb sort of grief settled in the pit of her stomach.

"I was hoping..well in all honesty, I've missed you, daughter-mine. We are more alike than you may want to admit, right now. My father, like my mother, was banished, though they were hardly on the best of terms. I never really knew him," She sighed, beckoning the imp closer and patting it lovingly on the head. "And I saw how close you and Azrale were, and I suppose I wanted that with my own father. I thought you two would be fine on your own. You did not need me."

Yukale could scarcely believe what she was hearing, "It tore him up!" And then it occurred to her, "He knew, didn't he.."

"Yes, he did. He did not expect me to embrace my heritage. Our heritage."

"It's an -addiction-!" Yukale glanced down at the demon, "The worst possible kind! Mother, you -have- to stop this! Goddess above.." I'm not leaving here without her..

"It is a -need- a..desire. An itch, in some ways, that just needs to be scratched...And it is nothing to fear." The imp almost seemed to purr as Nithil'Zir scratched under it's chin.

Shuddering, the rogue murmured, "I've heard this before..."

"You have?" Both her mother and the imp tilted their heads, "Ah! Na'lira! Your friend, the one you call Eilirria. She wishes to reclaim her heritage as well."

Yukale's head snaps up, "No! I won't let her!"

Nithil'Zir continued, as though oblivious, "I find myself rather interested in her. My sister has great potential..."

***

"Your...what?" Yukale's words were barely a breath. One of her best friends, "She's my aunt?!"

"Mmhmm. Quite the ladies man, our father," Nithil'Zir laughed, fingers toying with one of the imp's horns. "So you see. Family tradition, our heritage. It is only natural for her to follow in this path, for me to. And for you, I would hope. I've grown remarkably fast, you see, and I am sure you will do just as well!"

"And what would you do," the rogue asked, hoarsely. "If I refused. Kill me?"

"Oh! No no, silly girl," She waved a hand at her daughter, "You young ones, always so brash. Unlike certain people I try to avoid killing family."

Yukale, partly rising from her seat, a rather dark look from the imp keeping her from standing fully, shouted, "And what about my father?!"

Her voice broke on the last word, and she sunk back into the chair, choking back a sob as a few tears fell down her cheeks.

Clucking her tongue, Nithil'Zir stood, "I shall let you rest. It is good seeing you again. Really, I have missed you terribly."

Yukale said nothing as her mother walked out. She stared at the imp, having never seen one quite like it. Her muddled mind tried to make sense of everything. Was her mother succumbing to the ways of the mage, or the warlock? She'd been hit with some kind of arcane bolt, but that was very clearly a demon.

She heard her mother's voice, in Orcish this time, and that undead came..well..bouncing in. She carried a pitcher of water, some cloth, and...pie. Because, Faette had insisted, it was always time for pie, mmhmm!

"Let me see ze hand!" She stated, pointing at Yukale's hand. The rogue couldn't understand her, and cradled her hand close to her body, naturally untrusting.

"Oh come now, you adorable little elfling! I am not going to bite ze hand!" Faette giggled and gave Yukale undead-style puppy eyes. It was either kind of cute or terribly frightening, the elf wasn't sure which. Reluctantly, she tugged off her glove, groaning slightly and then wincing at the ugly swelling of her finger. She really wished she knew Orcish.

"Tsk! Tsk tsk! Look at theez finger!" The eccentric Forsaken woman appeared to be a priest as she set to work, her voice sounding cheerful, "You mangled theez good, no? Festering already! Tsk! Demon-bite, no? I cannot help. Eet ees no good! Eet has to go!" And then (no one ever said she was a very smart priest), taking the knife from the pie, she slammed it down on the unsuspecting rogue's finger.

***

There was a rather odd sight in the Undercity, walking out the front gates. An odd pair, one might say. The first was the shorter of the two, a Forsaken woman. Her hair appeared to have been dyed purple at one point, and had stayed that way in death. For earrings she wore multiple human teeth, and around her belt were many pairs of ears; Human, Kaldorei, Gnomish and Dwarf. There was even a pair of Orcish ears.

She was currently glancing into the blade of a sword, frowning at her reflection. Her companion was a troll, wearing the robes of a priest. Her violet hair was done up in a tall, cascading tie, and she wore a concerned look on her face, "Tyra, Ju be lookin at that reflection of yours again."

"Aye.." She glanced over at the priest, shrugging one shoulder, "Wha' about it, Zanda? Don' worry for me. Jus' me 'avin' a bit of nostalgia.."

Zanda sighed. Ever since the innkeepers had passed out those wands back at Hallow's End, her friend had been hung up on how she looked. One of the transformations had been very similar to how Tyra had looked in life...

Tyra shrugged again. As much as it annoyed her, she wanted to be alive again. That taste of..being 'normal' had changed her, deeply, "Come on, been somethin' I've been meanin' t'do, aye? Won't be very safe, where we're goin'. But I've been meanin' to go."

"So long as I'm wit ju, it don't matter."

Tyra smiled. Zanda made it so easy to do so.

***

Nithil'Zir surveyed the scene before her with some amount of annoyance. Faette lay bleeding ichor on the ground, and Yukale was crouched in one corner holding a knife, watching her warily. She kept her right hand clutched close to her body.

Sighing, the Blood Elf, nudged Faette with her foot, "Get up, you are not dead....Well. Not more dead, I should say. Get up, patch yourself up, and clean up this mess."

Faette peeked open one eye, "Ze Elfie -stabbed- me!"

Yukale protested, "She's insane! She tried to cut my -finger- off!" Honed reflexes had been all that had saved her finger. As it was, blood dribbled from a deep cut, and Yukale dimly feared she'd lose it anyway. The swelling had gone down slightly; the rogue had set her own finger after stabbing Faette, and was now tense from pain and adrenaline. She had also sworn the blow had been a killing one.

Nithil'Zir was keenly aware her daughter now had an implement of stabbity death, and knew very well how to use it. She could only hope to play to the rogue's naturally kind nature, so as to avoid any unpleasantness, "She is not insane. She is stupid, there is a difference. Now give me the knife, and we can properly take care of your finger."

"Now you're being stupid, mother," Yukale replied, realizing she might have an advantage. She grinned, "I'm going to leave this place. And I'm taking you with me."

The imp chortled, and Yukale's mother rolled her eyes, "To 'cure' me, correct? How misguidedly noble. I do not -wish- to be 'cured' daughter-mine! Nor, would I wager, will your aunt."

Yukale grit her teeth, moving towards the door, keeping her back to the wall as she did so.

"Where will you go?" Nithil'Zir asked quietly, "You are injured and wielding a butter-knife. Would you go through the Plaguelands in this condition?"

The rogue smirked, "Not alone no."

"I have already told you-"

She was interrupted when Yukale threw the knife.

***

Tyra and her companion crept through the tainted forests of Lordareon, senses straining for any sign of danger. Per their expectations, danger found them, "Scourge! The taint shall not be spread!"

"Oh fookin' 'ell!" The Forsaken woman ducked to the side, pulling Zanda with her. She drew her sword, but the Scarlet Crusader ran right past them. They could see several other travelers on the road ahead, fighting desperately for their lives against a half-dozen of the lunatic Scarlets.

"Ju tink we should be helpin tem?"

Tyra shook her head, motioning for Zanda to remain put, and stalked through the trees to observe closer. By now only two scarlets remained, pounding fruitlessly on a paladin. The man swung his hammer, caving in the skull of one scarlet before focusing his attention on the last. Felling this foe, he paused to catch his breath, and took a swig of water.

As he positioned himself to return his companions to the here and now, Tyra lept at him. Her sword met the soft flesh of his neck, and then he knew no more.

Zanda crept up, cautiously glancing around as Tyra knelt, "Waited a bit dere."

"Never any fun," Tyra replied, a slightly disappointed tone to her voice as she cut off the man's ears. Adding them to her belt, she added, "If they aren't ready t'fight back."

Pausing, she cut off a scarlet ear, offering it to Zanda, "'ungry?"

The Troll gave her a sour look, "Ju know I be tryin to cut back!"

***

The rogue was already on the move as the knife spun through the air at it's target. The imp looked rather surprised to have a knife sticking out of it's chest, and a half-annoyed half-impressed look crossed Nithil'Zir's face. And then Yukale had grabbed her arm and was hauling her out the door.

They ran right into Faette, who shrieked about the 'naughty, horrid elf' and started to beat on them with a metal tray. Yukale lost her grip on her mother while attempting to fend off the crazed priest. The older woman yanked on her daughter's hair and thrusting her hand in her face, energy crackling around it, "Enough!"

Yukale froze, even as Faette continued to beat on her with the tray. Nithil'Zir pushed the undead away, then slammed the rogue into the wall, "Behave!"

-

It had been several hours since her foiled attempt at escape, and Yukale was hard at work trying to figure out what to do next. Her hand had been bandaged and cared for, and she was careful to not bump it as she searched for weak points in the walls of the small room.

She heard footsteps and turned to face the door. It opened, and a smiling Faette bounced in, clearing the small table. Nithil'Zir followed closely after. The Undead set about putting plates and trays down.

Yukale gave her mother a confused look, "What..?"

"I thought that if we were to talk in a more normalized setting," Her mother replied. "That you might be able to relax. So, I had Faette prepare us dinner!"

"...I get it, you're trying to poison me," The rogue replied dubiously, eyeing the priest. Despite that, her stomach growled. Traitor.

"Of course not! Besides, there are worse ways to die?"

Yukale just had to point out, "Mother, I work with poisons, I know what they can do."

"Right then. Fret not, you will not be poisoned."

Faette gave them both a sad look, "My cooking ees ze bad? Pah! I will show you ze good cooking!"

***

The food wasn't all that bad, being more flavorful then her own cooking, but not as good as some meals she'd had. Might have been the company, or the solid feeling in her gut. Or maybe just the way her heart wrenched every time she looked at her mother.

Her mother seemed rather preoccupied, talking as they ate. Mostly about herself and what she'd been doing, but hardly anything useful or helpful. She even seemed almost sad. Yukale picked at her meal, having left the wine almost completely untouched. Something about it had tasted oddly familiar, and made her sick to her stomach. She glanced up at her mother, asking, "Do you regret any of it?"

Nithil'Zir seemed off put by the question, "Why would I do anything of the sort? I have more here than I ever did before I came."

She looked at the rogue and instantly realized it was the wrong thing to say, "I am sorry, daughter-mine, I did not mean to imply-"

"Well you damn well did!" Yukale pushed the remainder of her meal away, sitting back and folding her arms impertinently, "I should be the one that's sorry, we obviously weren't enough. Besides, I don't exactly see my grandfather sitting at this table, do I?"

Sounding hesitant, the older woman replied, "He was busy, I did not wish to disturb him."

Yukale pointed accusingly, "You're not on very good terms with him. In fact..." She folded her arms again, smirking, "You were jealous of how close my father and I were. So you left everything you knew, to find what you hated only to get the cold shoulder from your own-"

"Shut up!" Nithil'Zir slammed her hands down on the table, rising to her feet as she did so, "You know nothing of that! You were just a little daddy's girl who never gave her mother the ti-"

Yukale stood, slamming her own hands on the table in an unconsciously perfect imitation of her mother, "Mother I loved you! And I still love you despite all this. I'll be damned if I stand by and do nothing while you further slide into this addiction!"

Faette looked between them rapidly, much like one would observe a tennis game or Warsong match. She slowly raised a hand, as though asking permission to speak. She didn't wait for it, asking, "Would theez be a bad time to bring in ze dessert?"

***

The silence in the little room was palpable, deafening in it's own way. The tension was thick enough to make Yukale realize the validity of the old cliche. Too bad she didn't have a knife. Her mother didn't move, and neither did she, as Faette lowered her hand. The priest backed up, then scrambled out the door, closing it in her wake.

The sound of the door resounded around them, though neither woman seemed willing to back down. Yukale's finger protested, but she ignored it, exhaling sharply out her nose. Finally, she spoke, "What now? You can't keep me forever. We don't even have forever, anymore."

"We have a long time, daughter-mine. It could be centuries, perhaps even Millennia before our mortality begins to show," Nithil'Zir, replied, smiling. "Without the moonwell, eventually, you will become like our High Elf cousins. And then you will age, and you will eventually die, like the humans you so love."

"You already look much like our wayward kin. I suppose the effects of so many years using magics?" She eyed the ever present demon, "Or that thing."

Her mother shrugged, "I do not really know, nor do I particularly care. We have a very long, but limited time together, Yukale. Perhaps we should make the best of it and put this pettiness behind us."

"I don't know," Yukale replied. "Which of us is more stubborn in this."

Nithil'Zir picked up her glass of wine, sipping it, "Drink up, relax. You do have a reputation of being a heavy drinker."

"I prefer grog, and this stuff makes me ill to my stomach." The rogue then added, barbing her words, "Besides, I only drink with friends."

"Yukale, drink the wine, and maybe, just maybe, we can sit down and have a civilized conversation?"

Reluctantly downing her glass, Yukale said nothing.

Frowning at her daughter, Nihtil'Zir scooted two chairs close together. She gave Yukale an almost imploring look, the imp looking disgusted, "Please, give me just a small chance? Of the woman my daughter has become, I only know rumor, hearsay, and what I've learned from spying!"

Feeling somewhat uncomfortable, and not a little guilty, Yukale nodded. She sat down, folding her hands in her lap, "What do you want to know?"

The smile her mother gave her brought back fond, if now somewhat painful memories. Nithil'Zir leaned forward, asking, "So why the path of a rogue?"

Yukale's answer was simple, and matter-of-fact, "Nothing suited me, so I chose nothing. Rogue is such a broad term.."

"Lovely!" She waved a hand, her grin very much like the one her daughter often wore, "Now that that is out of the way, tell me about your Kiska. Start from the beginning, I know you were friends for a long time before anything grew from it," She knew some things, obviously. Perhaps, in a few instances, more than Yukale herself.

Flushing slightly, the rogue started to talk, "How we first met, then? We ran into each other one day, and started to talk. She had just picked Thrall's pocket..."

***

"Dis be it?" Zanda asked, surveying the field - meadow, really - in front of them. The plants were long dead, the ground churned up by hooves and armored boots. Pale bones littered the ground, macabre smiles under blank eyes, staring up at the polluted sky. Tyra knelt, picking up a rusted sword, staring at it before tossing it aside. She walked further into the meadow. In the intervening years, few had passed through save diseased animals, scourge, and the occasional Scarlet.

"I died 'ere," The Forsaken replied quietly. "Can you 'ear 'em? Wha' do your spirits say?"

"Dey be sayin bad tings happened here. Dey have tis ting about sayin the obvious," The Troll Priestess said. "Lots of death, lots of screamin and fightin, spirits been upset since we started walkin trou dis forest."

"This entire country was a warzone between the livin' and the Scourge," Tyra retorted. "I don' blame yeh spirits for bein' uppity."

"Da deadies won, I'm tinkin. Da scourge ones. Deadies like ju got freed some how, an now ju be tryin to find your place. Or ju peace."

Tyra nodded, sighing, "Sure as 'ell isn't 'ere. Don' right know why I came. Think I 'ad to put somethin' to rest."

"Is dat somethin restin, Tyra?" Zanda placed a hand gently on her shoulder.

She glanced at the troll for a moment, thinking she could see the vivid colour of Zanda's eyes. That moment passed as quickly as it had come, returning her to a dull, gray world, "I don' think so. Least ways no'yet."

"Besides," She added, leaning up and gnawing absently on Zanda's shoulder, "There's those faces in my mind, aye? The ones I can't remember the names to. Maybe if I find 'em...The red'ead, an' the elf.."

Bonking Tyra on the head playfully, Zanda asked, "Now what do I be sayin bout talkin wit ju mouth full?"

***

Yukale had a conundrum. On one hand, she'd been hit over the head and absconded with to parts unknown by a hostile force. On the other hand, that hostile force was her own mother. Family. The rogue held certain things above all others; the people she cared for above even those.

She and her mother had talked for hours, raising Yukale's hopes that whatever else happened, she might just be able to get through to her. That had been the day before. At the moment, she had been given permission to wander the upper floor of this building. Four rooms in all but it was better than nothing.

There was a hallway connecting the rooms, and she sat on the floor in one corner, back to the walls out of habit. She gently played with the straps of a thoroughly battered pack that rested in her lap. She brought a strap to her nose, inhaling the familiar scent. Distant memories of campfires in the forest and her father's jokes came back to her.

Her fingers clutched at the leather as she wrapped her arms around the pack, hugging it tightly. Yukale couldn't help but blame herself. If she'd searched harder, searched better. If she hadn't gotten sidetracked so much. If, if if...

Yet she'd gained so much...Selfishly, she wished she could have what she had gained, and her father too, even though she often felt spread too thin at times, trying to be there for everyone and yet knowing she often failed miserably at that self-appointed task.

Her sad reverie was interrupted by a presence, and she glanced up to see the entirely too happy face of Faette. Sighing, she asked, knowing the question was futile, "What do you want?"

"Oh! That bag eez so dirty! Let me get eet cleaned?" The priest leaned down, then caught the look on Yukale's face and pulled her hand away as though it had been bitten, "Yeesh!"

"I don't understand a word you're saying, but touch not live long time, understand?"

Of course, Faette couldn't understand, but the tone and look were unmistakable. She thought back for a moment, to what she had been instructed to do. Carefully, slowly, she spoke in Common (painstakingly and repeatedly told to her by Nithil'Zir, until the elf had gained a massive headache), "You are moo..."

She paused, then giggled and moo'd. Several times in fact, bouncing on her feet as she did so, "Moo! Mooo moo mooooo!"

Yukale stared in fascination. It was like a wreck at the track on the shimmering flats, she couldn't look away.

Faette settled down and tried again, "You are moo..teehee..mooher. Wi..wi..wah? Wah nuts?...Wal nuts? Walnuts two...sa...sa.....see you. You are mooher walnuts two sea you."

"You are mooher walnuts two sea you!" She looked proud upon finishing her sentence, clapping her hands delightedly.

One would think a Forsaken would pick up common easier. Yukale stood, picking up her father's pack. She reached over, gently patting and ruffling Faette's hair. The rogue then shook her head, laughing, and headed off to see what her 'mooher' wanted.

***

Yukale wasn't quite sure how long she'd been here. A few days at least, longer than she would usually disappear for, certainly. Still didn't mean her friends had any reason to be alarmed, save perhaps Kiska. There had been that letter, and if she recalled, she had been pretty muddled when she wrote it. Of course Kiska had no idea where to look, and Yukale wasn't sure how to aide this.

Her mother had taken her hearthstone, else she could have simply recalled home. The stone had an enchant as well, that enabled it to communicate with other similarly enchanted stones. She'd never bothered to disenchant it; She'd liked the thought of being able to communicate with others long distance, and it was less bulky than the design for the Goblin 'radio transmotifier' she'd seen. So, she needed to find out where her hearthstone was, and get out of here. Failing that, get a message out to one of her friends, assuming they had never gotten around to removing their enchantment after the dissolution of the Full Circle. Sighing, she glanced down at herself.

Her mother had given her a dress, deep maroon, and taken her gear and armor somewhere. Didn't matter where, it wasn't here. The rogue scratched at her arms, then peeled off the dress. Running her hands over her stomach, she inspected several scars. Faded burns on her arms and legs, and an assorted number of other old cuts, and one nasty looking scar on her side. She frowned, noticing quite a few new ones. Yukale never liked to admit that she had a slight vanity streak. But there was only so much armor could protect and only so much priest and druid healing could do. And she'd been through a lot of bad fights.

Now, she was wearing nothing, but nothing was better than that thing her mother called a dress. It made her itch, even though the fabric was soft and smooth. Perhaps an enchantment of some sort, but it was hardly something she was comfortable in. And it was ugly, too. Her gear had been hidden away with her hearthstone and weapons, yet another conundrum. She padded her way over to where she had placed her father's pack, kneeling and sifting through it. Yukale grinned, pulling out a large, dark blue shirt. She remembered it very clearly, her father had worn it more than any shirt she could recall. It was also gigantic, and hung down to her knees when she pulled it on. She fashioned a belt from one of the straps, and rolled up the sleeves, thus creating a perfectly servicable article of clothing.

Feeling much better, Yukale slipped out of her room-turned-cell. She closed the door, and crept silently down the hall. Downstairs she could hear voices; her mother's, and some man's. She didn't know the latter, and she didn't hear Faette. That left the question of where that psycho was, and if there were any additional people she might need to worry about. The sound of feet approached her, and she froze, willing the shadows to conceal her. The undead priest hobbled past, whistling off-key.

Damn! She was headed to the room Yukale had just left. Without thinking, she darted out, bringing her fists down on the back of Faette's head. The Forsaken woman crumbled to the ground as the rogue slipped away. There were three other rooms upstairs, and an inspection of both led to nothing. That left downstairs, and she peered down. Two figures sat on a couch near the fireplace, and though she couldn't tell who the man was, her mother had a clear view of the staircase. Backtracking, she dragged Faette into a room, then returned to a crouching position near the stairs.

Prying up a small piece of wood, she lobbed it. It bounced off the wall and skidded under the couch. Both the occupants turned to look, and she took the chance. Hooking her fingers on the edge of the stairway, she swung herself over, hanging upside-down before twisting her body and landing on her feet, as silent as a nightsaber in the snow. She dashed under the stairs, holding her breath and letting the comforting darkness surround her.

Nothing. She glanced at the couch. The two there had seemed to have resumed their conversation, and she let out a long breath, making her way to the nearest room. It was mostly empty, except for some junk, and a wardrobe, the wardrobe was as empty as the room. Yukale made her way to the next room, this time finding what she was looking for. The first thing she did was hook her daggers onto her make-shift belt, then dig through her pack. The hearthstone was warm in her hand, bringing a grin to her face as she tried to have it recall her back to Stormwind.

Luck wasn't with her today. For whatever reason, it wasn't working and she hoped her mother hadn't done anything to it. Not wanting to admit she needed help, she brought her fist to her mouth and tried to calm her racing heartbeat. Glancing back towards the room's door, Yukale decided that she didn't want to go without having reached through to her mother. If she knew her friends were coming, she could figure something out from that, and have some extra time to try to convince Nithil'Zir to follow a different path.

The other option was to grab her pack, rush out the door and never look back. The rogue tapped the hearthstone, leaning over it, praying for it to work. She just hoped people didn't have the damned things buried under packed clothing for once. Feeling disheartend, and expecting nothing, she hissed, "Is anyone listening? Please, answer!"

***

"Someting botherin ju, Tyra?" Zanda handed her a bowl of soup. The two had sheltered from a rather brown looking rain, west of Stratholme. The burning city could be clearly seen on the horizon, though it was not their destination.

Tyra glanced at the troll, shrugging a shoulder, "Jus' been thinkin' about my path in life, aye? Before I got dead, I traveled by sword an' song. Now look at me, no better'n an assassin, skulkin' around in shadows an' places."

"Ju skulk good, though."

"You're jus' biased, Zanda," The rogue muttered, rubbing her fingers over the left side of her chest.

Zanda frowned, watching her carefully, "Ju still be frettin about tings? Ju always sayin if anyone kills me, it be ju. Still feel dat way?"

"You know 'ow I feel, you dumb blueberry."

The priest's voice is saddened, "Dat be jus' the ting, sometime I don be knowin what ju feel."

Tyra remained silent for a long moment, staring down into her soup, "Never thought it was normal, you know. I'm a bloody corpse, an' I've never figured 'ow you could love me. Don' much care either way, o'course, wha' people think. You were the first person since I died to look at me as more than jus' another walkin' body. I didn't even look at myself 'as much more'n that."

She looked at Zanda, catching the troll's eyes, "An' you know 'ow much tha' scared me. Still got the scar on your chest from m'knife, I wager. I nearly killed you. You were a threat to wha' I was becomin' an' I wanted t'kill you, but I couldn't. You were lettin' me an' I couldn't. I cared about you. I was weak."

"Is what ju are now, better den what ju could have become?"

"It makes me want to cry, sometimes, wha' I am. I miss wha' I was. I 'ave these faces in my mind an' I can't even put names to them. I 'ear their voices and fookin' 'ate tha' I can't remember. I 'ave to rely on you to tell me wha' colour the sky is, and if the leaves 'ave faded in the fall, an' wha' color flowers are bloomin' in t'spring. I look at my reflection and want more."

The troll scooted closer, wrapping an arm around Tyra, "I always sayin ju be fine the way ju are."

She then asked, "Ju said ju saw the colour of my blood, when ju tried to kill me. An ju haven't seen a colour since?"

"Zanda, I get scared sometimes. Wonderin' if somethin'll 'appen and I'll finally do it. Maybe you should go back, an' let me go on alone, aye? I'm jus' gettin' this feelin' in m'gut. "

"Don ju be worryin about me," Zanda boasted, bonking her friend over the head for what was probably the sixth time that day. "Stop frettin. Besides, someone got to be keepin ju out of trouble."

***

(The part here between Yukale and Eilirra was done via whispers in game)

The silenced stretched out for far to long, and Yukale sighed. She was about to put the hearthstone away when a voice startled her.

"Hmm? Oh! Is this thing still working after all this time?"

"Who is this? Elly?" The rogue was a bit torn. On one hand she had to muffle a woop at getting any response at all. On the other hand, Eilirria was the last person she wanted to deal with at this moment. Her aunt according to her mother, and much like her mother becoming addicted to arcane magics.

"Honestly, Yukale. How long have you known me? Of COURSE it's me."

She could pick up a bit of irritation, and some distance in the other woman's voice, "You're voice is a bit muffled, is all...I've a bit of a problem.." Ah, master of understatements.

"Trouble? Oh dear. That's awful, what kind of trouble? Where are you, anyway?"

"You sound..never mind. Promise not to laught? I'm being held against my will, and I'm not sure where."

"Held against your will ... well. Do you know who's holding you?

Yukale sighed, "My mother."

"The Blood Elf?"

Her response was entirely too fast. And loud, "No!"

Lowering her voice, and eyeing the door, she continued, "She's my mother. She isn't a Blood Elf....wasn't.."

"Wasn't implies she is now."

Letting out another soft sigh, the rogue continued. She sounded reluctant, "Yes...She decided to follow her father, and I guess he influenced her. That doesn't matter! I can..talk her out of it, I think. I'm not leaving without trying to, at least...Elly, I need you to get word to the others."

"I think I ought to come rescue you."

Realizing that would be counter-productive to the whole concept of curing their magic addiction, Yukale quickly replied, "Not alone, it isn't safe."

"Don't think you can talk her out of something like that. It's impossible."

"No, it can't be impossible. I won't believe it."

"Yukale, she's holding you captive. How much sway do you think you really have?"

There was a growing sinking feeling in her gut. She had to believe it was possible. She didn't want to accept any other answer, "She talks to me. She wanted to listen to me tell her about myself. That has to count for something, right?"

"Oh of course. That's how it works, usually."

"I think you just managed to confuse me."

"Do you think becoming blood elves is something we aspire to? Of course it isn't."

"'We?' Elly..." She didn't like the sound of that.

"It's a completely innocent seduction that... is not so innocent. But in any case. We do need to get you out of there."

"Yes, that we agree on. You and I have a lot to talk about."

"So. Where were you before she took you?"

"East of Stratholme a ways. I might have been close to the road to Quel'Thalas, but I'm pretty sure I'm not there."

"It would be easy to tell."

"How?"

"Smell the air."

Smell the..? Rubbing nervously at her arms, Yukale sniffed the air around her, not expecting much, "I don't know what you mean. I've been rather muddled, I think. And she's been feeding me a lot of wine. The air seems a little more clear than in the Plagues, if that helps any..."

"Feeding you wine?" The hunter's soft chuckle was barely audible, "Oh dear. Have you started to itch yet?"

"I did, until I took the dress she gave me off. Why do you..?" And then Yukale had a classic 'oh duh' moment. Eilirria had told her she had an itch with no visible cause. An itch Yukale's suspicions had been later confirmed as caused by growing addiction to arcane energies, and the subconcious desire for more, "Oh damn her..."

"Interesting feeling, isn't it?"

"We were getting along. She's told me a lot of things..."

Yukale sounded reluctant again. She traced the pattern of one burn on her upper arm, ignoring the sudden need to scratch, "I don't know what to do, and I'm not sure how long before the forsaken I knocked out wakes up, or my mother goes upstairs to check on me."

"Well whatever she's done cannot be undone there. My guess is you're in Quel'Thalas, though.

"Great..." Still, a ruined city meant little in the way of resistance or eyes to spot her. unless the growing number of Blood Elves heading North was an indication of rebuilding. Yukale decided to remain optimistic at the moment, and voted for option A.

"Or near. There's a lodge up in the mountains where some of my kin still dwell."

The rogue winced at her friend's choice of hers. Eilirria's kin would mean Yukale's kin by extension, and she wasn't sure she was comfortable with the concept of being so closely related. However, it would explain her reaction to the moonwell water during her visit to Hyjal, and the withdrawal symptoms she'd experienced, without even having drank any. "I've been there. I don't think this is it. There is only myself, her undead servant person, her imp, and herself. she does have a visitor today, though.."

"Imp? In the name of Elune, she HAS dug herself a hole, hasn't she?"

"Aye..I've never seen an imp like this. And she zapped me with some kind of arcane bolt when I tried to attack her over her callous disregard when she told me my father was dead.."

The thought brought back some of the anger, and her fingers carressed the hilt of a dagger before she could stop them. Her aunt's voice snapped her out of it, "Wait it out. I'll be along."

"How long should you suggest? I don't think it's wise for you to come alone. She's taken interest in you, and has been keeping tabs on others I know."

"Well you're not getting out of there on your own. She's too powerful for you to take on when she's got the upper hand. Just wait. But ware the itch. There's no escaping it after a while."

"I could probably escape now, if I wished. And I've resisted this temptation before. The Hyjal water's effects.." Okay, so 'resist' probably wasn't the best word to use. 'Bringing danger to herself and friends by repeatedly going back to Mount Hyjal' would be more like it. She suddenly felt a lot more worried over what her mother could be putting in her food and drinks.

"Yukale, if you want me to avoid going there simply say it."

She sighed, responding after a long moment. She had almost stopped caring abuot being caught or not, "..Yes, I want you to avoid this place, but I don't think I can stop you. I'm afraid if you meet my mother, you'll both be lost to me."

Eilirria sighed softly, "A rogue I met once told me that Love does not always save. Good luck getting out of there, then. I'll tell the others about your little vacation."

"Elly...please..damn, I'm going to regret this. My mother claims you're her sister. That would make you my aunt. If my love as your friend isn't enough, then perhaps love as your family?"

"My legs are long enough. There's no need to pull them."

Nearly laughing, the rogue sounded exasperated, "I'm not pulling your leg! I'm serious. My mother's father was Seradar. Does that name sound familiar? Or did your sister never tell you.."

"Nyana never tells me anything. All I know is that he's not the same father as hers. And that, because she referred to him as "Your father" and not "Our father". "

"Then maybe it's time to demand answers," Yukale snapped. "I think we tried too hard to shield you from what we feared would hurt you, those forgotten memories. I don't know if my mother is lying or not, but her interest in you is real, and it could very well be because she believes you're her sister."

"In any case saving me from myself isn't top priority right now, is it?"

"I don't know." Yukale let out a soft laugh, her shoulders slumping.

"Look, if you can escape on your own, why did you call for help?"

"Maybe because I'm not sure I want to escape. She's my mother..."

"Oh yes. I do understand. However, this mother of yours took you captive against your will and then spiked your wine with magic. She doesn't sound like her motives are pure."

Yukale was hatching a plan, "....where are you now?"

"Oh, you know. Wandering around."

"Where though. I'm of a mind to prove you wrong.." She waited a moment for a response, never getting one. Cursing under her breath, Yukale stuffed the hearthstone down her shirt, then hoisted her pack over her shoulder, securing it. For a moment, she thought to try to retrieve her father's backpack, but the risk was too great.

Not willing to waste any more time (and hoping she wasn't making a mistake) by properly suiting up, she still drew her daggers. I can do this. I have the willpower to do so. My mother can't hold me, can't poison my mind or body.

Crouching in the doorway, she marked the escape path in her mind, then sprinted towards the nearest window.

***

It felt like one of the longest runs of her life, yet she knew it was only a few scant seconds between her initial burst and her diving out the window in a rather impressive (and painful) display of fractured glass and splintered wood. Dimly, she could hear her name being called, but dared not look back. She couldn't look back; If she did, she would return without a second thought.

But she wasn't chased. Nithil'Zir watched her daughter go with a disappointed sigh. Her companion glanced at her, clasping his hands behind his back, "She could have had the courtesy to use the door."

"But that would not have been nearly as impressive," The woman replied, voice dripping with dry sarcasm. She glanced at the other Blood Elf, "An hour. That should be enough time. Assuming you've done what you promised to do."

The rogue had already faded in the distance. Yukale brushed glass and wood fragements from her arms as she ran. Turning, finally, to glance behind her, her bare foot skidding in the mud. Throwing her arms out and digging her heels in, she came to a stop precariously over a ledge. It was too dark to see much, and she held her breath. Then the wet and diseased earth crumbled beneath her and she fell, tumbling down into the foilage below. She lay for a long moment, contemplating the warmth and comfort she'd just left behind. Though nothing seemed broken, she groaned, wondering what to do now, and sat up. Two pairs of eyes looked down at her, but her own were locked on to just one. Too shocked to reach for her weapons, she managed to utter a single word, a question really, "Tyra?"

The undead woman stared in equal shock, her hands stopped halfway to her own swords. The face that she looked upon seemed to come right from her fractured memories, "Yu...Yukale?"

Gazing at her friend's face for the first time in three years, Yukale reached up, wrapping her arms around the Undead woman's shoulders and pulling her down into a hug, "No wonder Trynn and I heard nothing..."

She didn't ask why, of all the places she'd traveled and things she'd experienced she'd run into the woman now. She didn't particularly care. After the emotional turmoil of this past week, the sheer joy at seeing an old friend, was greatly welcome, regardless of circumstances.

Yukale. Trynn. Like a floodgate Tyra's memories coalesced into something tangible. Growing up, her family and friends. The woman Trynn, who had become like a sister. The coming of the scourge and fleeing west, then the great Battle and Hyjal and her first meetings with the Kaldorei. Yukale had saved her's and Trynn's lives...

The wonderful year on Kalimdor with them, before her feet had wandered her home. The undead rogue let out a sob, her arms tightening around the Elf as the fragments of her memories brought her to the desperate struggle in Lordareon in a war that had already been 'won' against an enemy that grew with every casualty. Her death, and the violation, the very shattering of her mind.

And then she remembered the faces, the defenseless men, children and women she'd killed as scourge. As Forsaken she held no regrets over those in the alliance she'd slain. Every one had been on equal or near-equal terms, their ears made trophies for her conquests. But as scourge she'd had no such mercy...

"You found me," She murmured in half-remembered common, Yukale's hand gently petting at her hair. Her voice broke as she spoke, "Jus' like you promised. Wager yeh never gave up 'ope, either. Could 'ave been twenty years. A 'undred an' you would never give up 'ope on a friend."

"Of course. You showed me how wonderful your people could be, how to live every moment, like you do in your short lives." Yukale smiled gleefully, pulling back to look at Tyra, almost entirely forgetting what she'd been through recently, "I've made many new friends, but that doesn't mean an old friend's face isn't welcome! And I don't think I'd ever give up hope on someone that mattered to me as much as you did..." And she knew this to be truth. When Kiska had been missing, she'd been prepared to spend the rest of her life waiting.

The undead reached up, touching a green lock of hair that had been braided into Yukale's, "You always were sentimental. What's 'is name?"

"Hers, actually.. Kiska."

Tyra looked surprised, "Never figured you the type. Elfie?"

"Neither did we. Figure ourselves the type, that is," Yukale replied with a laugh, nodding, "Even for awhile after we'd realized how we felt. And you were the one that always chased up skirts."

"An' down pants, too!"

"Details, details."

Zanda watched the two banter, realizing that save for moments alone with her, she'd never seen Tyra this relaxed. In truth, it was the closest Tyra had been to her old self, despite a growing, terrible pain in her chest that Zanda could almost see, growing in the back her eyes. She reached out, putting a comforting hand on the undead's shoulder, "Ju goin to be introducin' me to ju friend?"

"This is the face, Zanda," Tyra replied in Orcish. "One o'the ones I remember, aye? 'er name's Yukale." She switched back into the common she was gradually remembering, "My blueberry 'ere is Zanda."

The elf smiled brightly at the troll. Any further dialogue was lost when an irritatingly familiar voice shouted, "I found ze bit---Yukale! Over zees way!"

"Damn!" Yukale bolted to her feet, turning to face Faette. Tyra had already pressed her back to the other rogue's as two other forms approached from behind them. Their movements were almost mirrors of each other, and Zanda wasn't sure who'd taught whom, as she slipped over to their sides while keeping an eye on Faette.

Nithil'Zir clapped good-naturedly, "How touching, a reunion of friends!"

The pain Tyra felt in her chest grew almost overwhelming, pushing out the good feelings she'd been building just moments before. Replaced by the memories, the guilt, the unnumbered tears, "I..I don' know who you are, but you're messin' with the wrong people, aye?"

"Friendship is important, Yukale," The man spoke this time, ignoring Tyra. Nithil'Zir added, "It is like family. This is a lesson for you, daughter-mine. Family crosses all boundries, just like your friendship does."

"Ju!" Zanda pointed at her, "Ju were jus stringin us along! Drawin Tyra somehow, for whatever mind game ju be tryin to pull." Though she often came off as naieve, Zanda was far from stupid. She'd been wondering what kept prompting Tyra to come this way, and meeting Yukale hadn't seemed like coincidence.

The Blood Elf slipped her arm around the man's waist, "Not me, my dear friend here. I've always known Tyra to have had a considerable influence on my daughter, and when I found out she was unalive and well...it was a matter of subtle tugging and well-placed hidden messages from people you've met."

Yukale narrowed her eyes. She didn't understand what they were saying, but she recognized her's and Tyra's names, "These things do cross boundries, mother, but that is no excuse for what you have done!"

"And there is no excuse to try to change me!" Nithil'Zir snapped angrily, "I am your mother, and I am what I've become, why do you wish to change it!?"

"Because it will destroy you!" Yukale took a few steps forward, passing Tyra.

"No!" The man spoke this time, his eyes flaring, "It will save her."

"It don' matter," Tyra whispered, giving in to the urge to sink to her knees under a great, percieved weight she felt on her shoulders. "Y'know, I was right, aye? Should 'ave let me do it Zanda. Better t'jus' cut my 'eart out so I don' feel. Don' love, don' feel sad, or guilty, or angry or 'ateful."

Shakily, she turned her sword around, the point pressing into her chest, over her heart, "Let me rest, Zanda. Let me forget, Yukale."

Both the elf and the troll moved at the same instant. They grabbed for Tyra's arm, and then there was the sickening sound of metal piercing flesh, and a woman's pained cry in the night air.

***

The blood was a very dark red, as it leaked from Zanda's chest. In her shocked state, Tyra could see the color, in stark contrast to the graytones of the rest of her world. The blood trailed down the sword and onto her hands. Panicked, she grabbed Zanda's face. If she could shed tears, she would have, "Stay with me! Don' go anywhere!"

"The spirits be tryin to take me some place but I be tellin dem to bugger off..." Zanda's voice was a whisper. "Said I wouldn't..leave ju. Said ju could do someting good..."

Gently laying Zanda down, panick turned to anger. Tyra turned eyes blind with rage onto Yukale, drawing her other sword. As she charged, she shouted, "Y'did this! It's your fault!"

Yukale didn't move, the look in Tyra's eyes freezing her in place. Then Faette threw a rock, cracking Tyra in the head. The angered woman thudded to the ground. Yukale rushed forward, cradling her in her arms. All was silent for a moment, then the male elf knelt, picking up Zanda. He regarded her face a moment "I'll take care of this one."

"And ze stabby one?" Faette asked, pointing a bony finger at Tyra, though the man had already walked off.

"Leave it to the carrion grubs," Nithil'Zir snapped, hauling her daughter roughly to her feet, keeping an iron grip on the other woman's shoulders. Yukale gave little resistance, only seeing the hate and rage that had been in Tyra's eyes.

After a minute, she shrugged off her mother and knelt by Tyra, "It was an accident, my friend." She brushed aside the woman's hair, then cut off a small lock of it, clenching it tightly in her fist, "You're right, I'm sentimental. I..can't make you not hate me, but don't hate yourself."

Yukale thought for a moment, then reached into her pack, pulling out a small object as her mother watched on curiously. It was a blue pearl. She closed Tyra's fist around it, "Hana gave this to me once, but I don't need it to remember her. I think you need it to hold yourself together more than I need it to bring back good memories."

The pearl had certain signficance in that Hanako had once lost one such pearl that had meant a great deal to her. Yukale and Kiska had made it their business to go collect another one for her, and ended up with a half-dozen. The hunter had then given them one each out of friendship.

"Enough," Nithil'Zir said softly, pulling Yukale up. She sighed, seeing her daughter's face. She couldn't leave Tyra like this, "Faette, keep an eye on her until she wakes up, but leave before you are noticed."

"But then what will ze carrion grubs eat?" The priest asked innocently.

"You, if you do not do as you are told!"

"But I am ze stringy, no? They would not want to eat me."

Nithil'Zir looked as though she wanted to say more, but it made her brain hurt. So instead, she took Yukale's arm, and walked off.

***

Faette most certainly did as she was told. She kept a very close eye on Tyra, crouched nose to nose, in face. That got boring after a few minutes, so the priest reached into her volumelous robes, pulling out a bottle of ink. She promptly set to work drawing concentric circles and designs on the unconcious woman's face. Oh, and a puppy, mustn't forget a puppy.

"This ees boring!" Faette stated after another ten minutes, putting the finishing touches on a bear on Tyra's cheek. "Wake up!"

She bonked Tyra on the forehead, then folded her hands in her lap, waiting expectantly. She was about to give up and smack her again when the rogue sat bolt upright, looking around wildly, and calling out for Zanda. Faette wasn't Zanda. She grabbed the woman's shoulders, growling, "Tell me where she is or I'll rip y'spine out through y'ribcage."

Wide-eyed, Faette gestured around, "She ees dead! Gone! Poof! Gzzzssggght!" She accompanied the last sound with her finger across her throat, "Bite ze bucket, kicking ze dirt! Cashed in ze farm! Bought ze chips! Ashes to ze ashes, bananas to ze bananas!"

Disgusted, Tyra shoved her away, even as the priest babbled on. She wiped her hands on her pants, trying to get rid of some of the blood. She could still see the red, "No..no, she isn't dead. Spirits takin' 'er somewhere or somethin' but she isn't dead."

"But she eez! Kicked ze dirt! Ashes to bananas! Gzzzssggght!"

Shouting wordlessly, Tyra picked up the still bloody sword and swiped at Faette. The priest bounced back shrieking. She shrieked again, then turned fleeing.

Tyra let her go. She was staring at the sword, at the drying liquid dribbling down it. Yukale's name came to mind, and she growled it.

And then she heard a voice. Her conscience, perhaps. It sounded very much like Zanda, What ju goin to do now?

"Goin' to..gods above I don' right know. You're off chasin' spirits on me..."

Well don be mopin around! I'll be keepin an eye on ju.

Her grip on the sword wavered, then tightened. She smashed it against a rock, the edge chipping, "I've 'ad enough of this bullcrap! No more skulkin' around! Look at me! Took weak t'even cut my own 'eart out."

Ju not goin after ju friend? And ju have never been weak, Tyra.

"No! She ki...She...she took you away. She deserves wha'ever fate."

I be tinkin it wasn't anybody's fault.

Tyra sighed, starting to walk away, "She can take care of 'erself. An' if I see 'er again I might try t'kill 'er. An'.."

An ju no be wantin to do that. But she was ju friend, ju can't just leave her. Would Ju leave me? Would she leave ju if she had the choice?

"Wouldn't leave you....I can leave 'er," Tyra replied, scowling at the voice in her head. She opened her hand, feeling the weight of the pearl she kept and deathgrip on and sighed, "Maybe you're right. Tha', an' I don' want you mad at me. Damned blueberry."

Sighing, she started off, in the opposite direction. I thought ju were goin to help her?

"I am goin' to 'elp 'er, aye? I'm not strong enough myself, I'm thinkin'. Goin' to train right an' proper like. Swords an' shield, an' maybe try singin' again, if I'm of the mood for it. Get some good ol' fashioned smashin' in."

Might be takin too long.

"Aye, so I'm goin' to find someone strong enough t'do it." She blinked, realizing one of her bangs seemed shorter. She touched it, almost smiling, "..someone tha' cares more for 'er than anyone, I wager..."

***  
(and now the part where like half the server guest stars?)

Yukale dreamed over the next week of a campfire, much like the one she Trynn and Tyra would sit around at night. Those two were there, but there were very many others. Faces she knew well. Friends from the old Full Circle, and older friends that she knew when they called themselves Stormforged, before they were taken in under the guiding hand of the Rising Shadow.

Newer faces, as well, the members of the Vanguard and those of Eternal Light that had been taken in by the ancient order, flanking the fire opposite her. All dear to her. And still more, from across two factions and all the races of Azeroth. She knew them, either at a passing glance, an occasional conversation, or the crossing of blades in heated combat, but she knew them.

The campfire was actually a bonfire, and there were bodies on top of it. Yukale stood with her arm around Tyra, comforting her. She knew one body was Zanda, and another would be her father. She squeezed Tyra's shoulders, looking down as the undead woman glanced up at her. Yukale fliched. All she could see was hatred boiling in a pit of grief, flaring up at her.

As she had each night, Yukale started to wake up. This night was different; There were voices talking downstairs. Some shouting, or an argument. She groggily recognized her mother, and her mother's male friend. There was Faette's, and a fourth voice.

There was the sudden roar of a bear and she bolted upright, wide awake. She was out of the bed and halfway to the door before the roar died down, and already the sounds of fighting were escalating. She could hear, feel the crackle of magical energies, raising the hackles on the back of her neck. It was electrifying, exciting, and her vision swam as she threw open the door. Whatever going on down there was heated, both in emotion and temperature

This new feeling was almost welcome, yet it warred with another. The cool, calm comfort of nature. The bear roaring snapped her out it, and she skidded into the bannister near the stairs. Peering down, she could see all three of her captors backed into a corner by a very large, very angry bear. Yukale grinned, very happy to see that big bear butt of Kiska in her form. She knew it well enough, having been sat on often when the druid got it in her head that Yukale needed to calm down. Not that Yukale had needed rescue. Oh no. But that could be discussed later. She started to move towards the stairs.

***

The rogue surveyed the scene as she moved, her grin faltering. She could see the druid's fur was scorched and burned in places, and blood dribbled profusely from numerous wounds. The imp lay mangled at the foot of the stairs, torn nearly in half. Her mother looked pale, as though the effort of weilding her magics drained her. Though Nithil'Zir had nearly six centuries of practice and knowledge as a mage (and enough gumption to make a deal with an imp and trespass on the toes of warlocks) the energy expenditure of this fight had been enough to wind her. One of Faette's legs was twisted at an odd angle.

The male elf, who Yukale had finally learned was named Trivas, was gashed deeply across the chest. He wielded some sort of spear, with a nasty looking, jagged point. He kept trying to position himself between Nithil'Zir and Kiska, but both the bear and his injury made that difficult.

Events happened very fast at that point, as Yukale started to head downstairs. Roaring, Kiska reared up to charge and Nithil'Zir threw out her hands. A dark purple bolt struck the druid full on as Trivas darted forward, jabbing with the spear. The blast threw her back, and the druid shifted out of bear form in mid air before crashing into the railing at the bottom of the stairs, splintering and cracking the wood. Standing shakily, she nearly lost her footing in imp goo, viridian hair falling in wreckless tangles across her face. Acrid smoke rose imperceptively from charred flesh on her neck and face.

Kiska's hands glowed green as she held them over her bleeding stomach, though it seemed to have little effect. Taking a step forward she thrust out a bloodied hand, Moonfire arcing down from the ceiling and striking Nithil'Zir. The druid smiled cryptically as the woman screamed in agony, her flesh burning, almost boiling. She took another step forward, then fell to her knees and slumped over.

***

Nithil'Zir lay on the ground, screaming. The skin on half her face and much of her upper torso was reddened and cracked, and she rolled weakly onto her back, shaking violently and uncontrollably. One eye was seared almost completely away. Trivas knelt beside her, murmuring to her in High Elvish and clutching at his own chest. He started to apply a salve to her burned skin.

It took a moment for the shock to settle in, and everything to register in Yukale's mind. A woeful howl rose from her throat and she stumbled down the stairs, falling briefly down several steps at one point before she came to Kiska's side. She pulled the other woman into her lap, turning her over and pressing a hand against the massive wound to staunch the flow of blood. Dimly, she could hear her mother's cries lessening, though her attention was firmly rooted on her lover and dearest friend.

"Speak to me, Kiska," Yukale whispered, slipping into Darnassian and cradling the druid's head with her other arm. She stared down at eyes beginning to dull into lifelessness. A terrible icyness settled itself in her stomach, then lanced it's way through her heart. She asked again, her voice strained and thick, "Kiska? Lover?"

Brushing aside wayward strands of hair, she traced a finger along the strange smile the druid still wore, then held it there. She could feel no air, no living breath. Leaning over, she pressed her lips to Kiska's, her weeping wracked by mournful, strangled sobs. She felt a form overshadow her. Reluctantly pulling her face away, she looked up listlessly, face soaked in tears.

Trivas stood over her, his spear was poised above his head. He aimed the point down towards her and his face contorted in rage, and some form of grief matching her own, "All of this! It is your fault! If you had just accepted her, this would be different!"

"My fault," Yukale whispered, Tyra's voice echoing in her head. Crying again, she begged, "Send me to her."

He adjusted his grip, and pulled the spear back, but a tense voice cut through the air. Trivas turned his head to look. A moon-haired Night Elf in blood red mail armor stood in the doorway, an arrow nocked and drawn back in her bow. Her eyes flared a red ire, "You have five seconds to tell me why I should let you live."

"Five," Eilirria loosed the arrow.

***

The spear clattered to the ground. Trivas wavered for a moment, then fell over backwards, the arrow lodged through one eyesocket. Yukale whimpered, leaning over as though to protect Kiska from whatever befell next.

In the corner, Faette had hidden by pulling her robes up over her head. She poked her head back, peeking out, "Ees eet safe yet?"

"No," The hunter turned, drawing, knocking and firing another arrow, striking the priest in the left temple. The undead woman looked puzzled a moment, then touched the shaft of the arrow. Her voice had a whining tone in it, "What did you do zat for! Zat hurt!"

Clearly, nothing vital had been hit. Or it had already rotted away in the time between death and Faette's rebirth in undeath. Regardless, Faette seemed little more than inconvenienced. She continued to complain, "How am I supposed to walk around like this? I'll get stuck in ze doors, no?"

She poked the arrow, and giggles, "Ooh I like zat!" She poked it again the same way, giggling again. She poked it once more, got a goofy look on her face, and promptly fainted.

Eilirria blinked, reaching back to draw another arrow and finish the job. Her arm was stopped when Yukale stood and placed a hand on it. The rogue promptly threw her arms around her, burying her face in the woman's shoulder.

The hunter stiffened, blinking again, then put an arm around Yukale, patting her gently. She peered carefully at the rogue, studying her, then lifted her head, sniffing at the air. She could detect the scent of the salve on Nithil'Zir's burns, the tangy scent of blood. Her eyes fell to Kiska.

"I see."

Yukale let out another sob, her fingers tightening at Eilirria's back. Nostril's flaring, Eilirria studied Yukale again. The magic in this place was virtually overwhelming. It made her dizzy and warm all at the same time, a heady feeling, almost like being drunk. Her arm squeezed Yukale a little, a distant look on her face, eyes heavy-lidded.

"We need to get you out of here." The rogue's voice was quiet, strained and hesitant. It took every bit of her strength and willpower to pull herself together, but the look on her friend's face scared her.

Looking over to where the burned woman lay, the hunter surmised that she was likely Yukale's mother. The woman that claimed to be her sister. Not that she believed it, but there was a slight bit of nagging doubt. She pulled away from Yukale, taking slow, deliberate steps towards the injured woman. Her boots thudded heavily on the wooden floor, her chainmail jangling as she moved.

Nithil'Zir only knew pain. Her vision was fuzzy and grey, her throat raw from screaming. She couldn't even utter a moan now, though she somehow thought that if she could, it would be a great relief. Someone swam into view. The features were familiar, and she tried to say a name. Yukale? No, no it couldn't be you. Your face is all wrong..

Eilirria knelt beside her. Once, she'd been a druid. That had been her path and she'd followed it. Her eyes studied the woman's features, the doubts growing when she noticed a definate familial resemblence. It was there, despite Moonfire burns particularly well-aimed and potent. The woman glanced over to where Kiska lay, observing the similar injuries from whatever had struck her. That Moonfire had been the druid's final act, and Eilirria understood the cryptic smile on her face.

The hunter had forgotten what she had been capable of, when she was a druid, much of it due to an accident. Despite this, she remembered far more than she led others to believe, yet even she was surprised when she felt the old energies flow through her. The calling of the wind, nature's comforting energies.

They flowed through to her hands, and began to repair Nithil'Zir's injuries. Burns began to recede, the pain faded to an ache, though little seemed to be done for her eye. Then the flow faltered, and stopped. Eilirria lowered her head, threading her hands through her hair. The memory had faded, and her sis-- Yukale's mother's injuries too severe. She couldn't do any more than dull the pain and fade away some of the burns.

And of course, there was the path she was following now, the one that pulled her along to unknown ends and paralleled in some ways Nithil'Zir and her attempts to sway Yukale. The way of the arcane, and magic addiction. Perhaps in some ways, it was incompatible with certain paths of nature.

She reached down, taking ahold of one of the woman's hands, squeezing it gently in her own, "I'm here. Rest, the pain will fade."

Yukale was at a loss, torn between several desires. Fingers closing Kiska's eyes, she decided she could not leave them here. For any reason. Kiska, Eilirria, not even her mother. Her mother, who was still alive. Who had...She looked again at Kiska, at the charred flesh on her neck and torso.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she realized she wasn't all that sure she was entirely happy with what her aunt had just tried to do. The realization disgusted and terrified her, and she wondered if the tears would ever dry up. The willpower and strength that she had just moments ago managed to cobble together threatened to crumble away. Yukale couldn't remember which way was up, couldn't remember what mattered.

What mattered most of all lay motionless in front of her. Fresh tears fell onto Kiska's face. Kiska, she who touched the sky. Yukale had once sworn to her, as they'd bathed in the hot springs of Winterspring, that she would find a way to reach to the stars and bring one down to her. She searched a pocket, finding the woman's notebook, a lock of Yukale's hair used as a bookmark. She also found a round, glowing crystal, taken from some place very high. A 'star' that she'd given, as promised.

Her strength gave way. Her mother had...her mother wasn't the person she remembered, and Eilirria was quickly headed down that same destructive path. Something deep down inside of the rogue shattered, something very important to who she was. For the second time today, her heart broke.

Yukale's fingers closed around the shaft of Trivas' discarded spear.

Story Notes 1. Nabbed! 2. No lock can hold me 3. News. 4. Revelations 5. Unhinged 6. SEGUE 1: Undercity. 7. Addiction 8. SEGUE 2: Scarlets Crusaders 9. Fled 10. Dinner and an arguement. 11. Getting to know each other. 12. SEGUE 3: Place of death. 13. Conundrums and Walnuts 14. Calling for Help 15. SEGUE 4: Colorblind 16. Escape 17. Reunion 18. Spirit\\\ 19. Decisions 20. Bonfire Dreams 21. Shattered 22. Plea 23. Snapped Heart. 24. Blind rage. 25. FINAL SEGUE: To live again. 26. Reality. 27. Epilogue - Laid to Rest 

***

Eilirra's ears twitched. Her weapon was drawn, deflecting the spear before concious thought registered the action. The edge of the point nicked one ear as it whistled past her head and into the wall, then Yukale's knee impacted her stomach. The rogue pushed her away, pulling the spear back from the wall and twisting it around. Her face was a flux of emotion as she raised it to drive it into her mother.

Yukale hesitated upon seeing her. There was a part of her that had promised to never harm one she loved, and that warred with her shattered heart and her grief. She felt, rather than heard, a rush of air behind her and ducked, the hilt of Eilirria's sword brushed the top of her head. The rogue kicked her foot out behind her, sweeping as she turned and tripping the hunter. Eilirria's back hit the ground, and she rolled to the side.

As she came to her feet, she used her bow to deflect a jab of the spear. She realized that, oddly enough, Yukale was using the blunt end against her. Eilirria took advantage of the rogue's hesitation and reluctance. Pulling an arrow from her quiver, she flung it at the woman's arm. Yukale cried out, dropping the spear, then launched a kick at the hunter's chest.

Eilirria stumbled back as Yukale lunged, and the pair fell to the ground, grappling. Yukale was on top, and she pinned Eilirria down, her arm pressed onto the woman's throat. The hunter brought up her knee, dislodging the rogue slightly, then punched her in the face.

"Yukale!" She rasped. "Stop this!"

The rogue fell back, sitting against the wall and staying there, breathing heavily. Grunting, she pulled the arrow from her arm. Blood trailed down from both the wound and her nose, and she sighed, pulling her knees up to her chest, hugging them. The only thing she could find herself able to do was shake, and look at Eilirria imploringly.

"I don't know what I'm doing, anymore."

"After all this, I'd want to kill her too. But you can't, at least not yet. We still need her." Eilirria glanced over where Nithil'Zir lay. Was that what she was to become? She had to know. And if that really was her sister..

"It's over, Yukale. I'm sorry."

***

Tyra sat in the War Quarter of the Undercity. She wore a simple tunic and slacks, her armor piled to her left, freshly blooded. A shield and handaxe were propped against the wall, and she was sharpening a large broadsword. A dozen new ears were attached to her belt, most of them once belonging to elves.

What ju goin to be tellin people?

"Same thin' I told Grumpy an' your prophet friend. Tha' you're off chasin' spirits."

Ryeska and Dor?

Nodding, she held up the sword, inspecting her face in the reflection, "Aye. It's the truth, isn't it? An' I told them you'll be back."

Ju be makin new friends...

"Jealous? Aye, of course you are. Don' you worry about a thin'. If I jump any bones I'll be thinkin' o'you."

...tanks. I think.

"You're very much welcome!" Tyra grinned, sheathing her sword, "An' jus' maybe, by the time you come back, I can give you everythin' you deserve."

I'm ju friend, ju know I don..

She started to pull her armor back on, chainmail clinking and jangling, "Oh shut the 'ell up. I say you deserve more'n I can give you in my present state and I damned well mean it."

Holding up the axe, she muttered, "By the Light or the Dark, I'll be wha' I once was. I want to live again."

***

(This part was done as a collaberative effort between myself and Nyana/Eilirria. So give her applause *nodnod* She, of course, wrote herself ;))

Eilirria got up and dusted herself off, her expression betraying nothing but a stony calm. She removed a blood-red gauntlet and massaged her neck lightly, her eyes darting around the room from the rogue to Nithil'zir, to Faette, then to the door. The presence of other humanoids in the area nagged at the edge of her mind. She knelt before the rogue, digging in her pack and producing a roll of bandages.

"Yukale... we have to move. Here," she added in a steady tone as she ripped off a piece and bandaged the rogue's arm, "I'll handle this to the best of my ability. But you have to get up."

Yukale didn't seem like she had any desire to move. She started to rock, lowering her head into her arms. She felt drained, and as though she'd betrayed something precious by her actions just moments before. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound really came out.

She heard Eilirria's voice, but none of it really registered. She felt the woman apply a bandage to her arm, and she looked up, glancing over at Kiska. She managed to find her voice. It was firm, unmovable, "We can't leave her here. We're taking her with us."

"I wouldn't leave her, Yuka," the hunter's voice taking on a gentle tone before returning to it's steady detachment, "We're taking them both."

The hunter nodded and placed her hand on the rogue's shoulder, squeezing a moment. Then she rose and once again took in the environment before resting her eyes on Kiska's body. The druid's body was partially hidden by the fallen corpse of the male she'd shot upon entering. Inwardly she noted that neither of them were particularly heavy, which was probably good for them all. It didn't seem that Yukale was in any shape to help her.

"What do we do with her?" The rogue turned her gaze to her mother. She already knew what she wanted for Kiska, but her mother was another story entirely. She started to push herself up. She needed to get her things, needed her weapons...her knees refused to cooperate, her legs felt rubbery and weak. She slid back down along the wall.

The hunter turned her gaze to Nithil'zir a moment. It was imperative that they leave as quickly as possible, and she wondered vaguely how much trouble her supposed sister was capable of causing. At the moment the would-be blood elf was semi-unconcious on the floor, though, so they had some time yet to decide.

"I'll deal with her in a moment. Try and get up while I get Kiska," the hunter realised she was unable to admit to herself the druid was gone and suppressed a sigh. Her steps felt heavy as she approached the woman's body, pushing Trivas' body off of her carefully. She touched the druid's face with her finger and recalled absently that at one point she could return things from the dead. She suddenly wished she hadn't wasted her energy on healing Nithil'zir and shrugged it off.

Yukale nodded, pulling herself back up again, feeling suddenly nauseous. She bent over, propping her hands on her upper legs and taking long, measured breaths. Her head swam a little, and she tasted bile, but nothing came of it. In fact, she was starting to feel a little numb, her skin chilled.

"It doesn't feel real..."

She looked over at Eilirria, "It just doesn't."

The hunter didn't turn to her but it was clear she heard by the soft nodding of her head. She touched her finger to the druid's cold cheek again, and sniffed, noting the smell of death and blood. She realised suddenly that she knew, without understanding how, that Kiska was completely gone.

"It's real," she replied softly, as she picked the corpse up gently in her arms and turned with it, walking out the door.

Those words struck Yukale with a crushing finality. Her throat closed up, and she felt her stomach rising again, but supressed the urge. Pushing herself off from the wall, she pulled herself up the stairs, returning a few moments later with both her pack and her father's. She had pulled her armor on, her daggers sheathed, the motions familiar and comforting. She glanced at her mother again, walking slowly over to her.

Nithil'Zir let out a little moan.

"Why can't I hate you!?" Yukale asked, gritting her teeth and balling her fists. She kicked the woman in the side, her voice rising, "Why can't I hate you! Tell me!"

Nithil'Zir cried out in anguish, recoiling and curling up into a ball. She could hear her daughter, but could give no answer.

"Because you don't love her enough," Eilirria replied from the doorway. The hunter leaned against the doorframe, her eyes taking in both mother and daughter with calculation. "You can only truly hate something that you've loved to it's fullest extent."

Eilirria glanced down at the cowering blood elf on the ground with a look bordering on disdain. There had already been a few points of clarity for her this trip, but now she was stricken by the woman's weak condition. For all Nithil'Zir's ability to use magic, she was now nothing more than a broken rag doll. Eilirria knelt before the woman and sighed, glancing up at Yukale.

"Attacking her isn't going to make things easier. And we still need to get out of here. Come on."

"I don't understand. How can loving someone enough make you hate them? I should hate her for all this, but I don't. I still love her. Maybe that's what I should hate. Myself," Yukale sighed, shaking her head, and knelt down beside Eilirria. She forced herself to take a good, real look at her. She had just kicked this? She felt ill to her stomach again.

"Lets..get out of here, yes."

Eilirria collected the whimpering Nithil'Zir into her arms, slinging her over a shoulder casually. She rose and nodded at Yukale, taking the rogue's hand firmly in her free one. Without waiting to hear a complaint the hunter turned and walked towards the exit, Nithil'Zir slung over her right shoulder and left hand guiding her friend out the door.

"Eilirria?" Yukale asked, "We need to take Kiska to Ashenvale."

Eilirria didn't answer her at first, instead sniffing the cool night air and beckoning to the shadows near the house. At first it seemed like nothing would happen, but after a low whistle a huge frostsaber, colored a bright blue by the moon, emerged. The hunter slung Nithil'Zir over the cat's back and uttered a few calming words to the animal as it growled it's complaints at being used as a pack animal. She took a few moments to make sure that both Nithil'Zir and the cat were settled and then turned to Yukale again.

"Dawn is coming, the others are going to wake soon, and we're all three of us injured and in no condition to explain ourselves," she told the rogue in a tone that brooked no argument, "We can settle arrangements when we get somewhere safe, but we'll need to find someone who can preserve her first."

Shuddering, Yukale nodded. It was not a particularly pleasant thought, and she shoved it out of her mind, hefting her packs. She took comfort in the familiar. It was all she had right now.

Eilirria studied Yukale for another moment, trying to put herself in the rogue's shoes. If everything Nithil'Zir had said was true, the girl standing before her was her neice. The cold and abrupt way she'd been carrying herself seemed somehow inappropriate at a time like this. It was moments just like this that she cursed her awkwardness with society in general. She ran a hand through her hair, fiddling with a trinket a moment. They had to get out, but she felt like she needed to do something, anything to comfort the girl. At a loss, her stony expression crumbled into something genuinely soft and she took the rogue into her arms a minute, hugging her warmly.

"I'm sorry. I should have saved her. I'm genuinely sorry."

At times, a girl was all Yukale really was. She was far younger than Eilirria, though by no means a child. But sometimes that doesn't matter. The hunter's actions caused her to start a moment, then her arms wrapped around her back and she hugged her back tightly. It wasn't the words that mattered so much as the actions, and the tone of Eilirria's voice.

At this moment, it meant everything to Yukale, "You don't know that you would have done any good."

"It's true. I don't," agreed the hunter as she patted Yukale's back softly,"But I should have tried, regardless."

Time, the presence of others around her, and the smell of dawn brought her back to reality. She was the first to break the hug, but did it in a gentle fashion and then nodded to her mount, the great frostsaber who she named Whisper. Kiska's body had already been carefully placed across the mount's back. "Take Whisper and head toward's Light's Hope. I'll go on foot."

Yukale looked momentarily distressed, remembering her horse, "Goddess, Neoma! I haven't seen her since all this started."

She decided she wasn't going to argue Eilirria going on foot. She trusted her to meet her at the Chapel.

"She'll be fine. Probably running around waiting for me to catch her," Yukale murmured, nodding her head and holding up a hand. "Do not tarry long." She managed a smile, wondering if she should start calling Eilirria 'Auntie Ellie.'

Mounting Whisper, her momentary jovialness faded as she looked down at Kiska. Closing her eyes, she urged the great Cat to get her out of here.

***

"Eilirria? We need to take Kiska to Ashenvale."

Epilogue

Light streamed down through the trees, the sounds of wildlife all around them. A horse stood warily watching a large Nightsaber, as two figures stood near one tree nestled against the Stonetalon Mountains. This tree was near an old, abandoned building, and there was freshly packed earth underneath it.

Eilirria's sister, Nyana, had once been told by Kiska that the druid would settle down and live in Ashenvale when she could walk from one end to the other without crying. The forest was a sad place, often filled with more dark memories than good ones. But there had been a very specific reason, Yukale had said. A very important one, for burying her here.

"Let her lay with her husband."

Turning to glance at Eilirria, Yukale wiped at her eyes, "We would come visit him, you know. Talking to ghosts, though the ghost never answered."

Her laugh was a sad one, "Least I could do for stealing his woman."

"You'll keep coming," The hunter stated.

"Of course. Talk to her. Keep her in the loop, so to speak," And Yukale grinned, fully for the first time in a long while, though not without that hint of grief, "Besides. You just know she'd get bored without me."

A hundred years ago, Kiska's husband had drowned, and this was where he rested. Yukale had come to talk to him on occasion, even though she had no idea if he was listening. It had seemed the right thing to do, having become so close to Kiska. The rogue didn't know if a hundred years hence, she might find someone that would dull the pain. It didn't really matter. In her mind, Kiska deserved this. Even though she had loved Yukale, she had never stopped loving the man she now was buried near.

One day, Yukale thought, I will also rest here. Whatever else happens, whoever else I love.

And that was how it should be.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a few others I might post up that are part of this series though there have been more retcons from some of those.


End file.
